“Long story,” Rachel replies. “He says she has trust issues…thinks if she’s not happy then what’s the point? But she’s miserable without him, and he knew she would be. Why would you hurt someone purposely when you’re supposed to love them?”
Trust issues—two words that are easy to dismiss when you have no experience of where they can lead. Two little kids watching their mom die, for example.
I push my memories away. “I wouldn’t know, but if she doesn’t trust him, maybe it’s for the best.”
Rachel doesn’t like that answer, and I don’t blame her. “You’re not here, Landon. She’s miserable.”
Better to be miserable now than do something irrational later. “She’ll get over it.”
Rachel makes a sound of frustration. “You don’t understand. They’ve been together for four years! You can’t just get over someone you’ve loved for so long. It’s not that easy.”
She would know, of course. An unbidden image of Rachel crying in an elevator flashes in my mind. Rachel across from a table with Weyland in San Francisco.
Jealousy flares, poisoning my insides.
“Well…you are spea
king from experience.”
She doesn’t reply or try to deny that she still has feelings for Weyland. Of course she does, I think bitterly. She loves him, and me? I’m just the poor sucker who provides the sex in the meantime.
I close my eyes, ashamed of the meanness of my thoughts. “Give Laurie my best.”
“I will.” There’s a pause. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”
“Weekend, at the latest. Why don’t you try to get some rest before you have to go to work? We’ll talk some other time.”
She does as I say.
I spend the next few days taking advantage of my presence in Europe to resolve a few business interests. I talk to Rachel every night and send a gift to cheer Laurie up.
Rachel doesn’t mention my comment implying she is still hung up on Weyland.
I don’t mention it either.
But I’m still thinking about it and torturing myself with the idea that Jack is waiting in the wings for Rachel.
It’s not like I want to keep her forever, I tell myself. It’s just…he’s an asshole, and she deserves better.
As soon as I land in New York on Saturday, I call Rachel.
“Hello, hotness,” she purrs into the phone.
“Mmm, hotness—I like that.”
I imagine the smile on her face, the dimple dancing on her cheek.
I’ve missed you, Rachel.
“Are you back?”
“Just arrived.” And I’m dying to devour you. “Where are you?”
“At my parents’ place.”
“Where is that?”
She laughs. “I thought you knew everything about me.”